One can tell the history of a theatre department by a catalogue of speeches given that first arts area meeting or perhaps by the end-of-the-year banquet tear-fest for the seniors. You could weave together all of the syllabi (if that is the correct plural) – and patch together all of the tests and essays (and ridiculous what-were-they-thinking government tests) – – but still you would never have a clearer history then told by that single chair that sits in the back or on the side or lost under the risers in every theatre classroom.
Beaten up, bent usually to one side if not both, almost losing a bolt at the bottom, skid pads rubbed to mar waxed floors freely – – this chair is the history of the department. Although it had to be once new – – no body can remember when it was shipped in. It just appeard one day. And where did all of its fellow chairs go? They must have arrived one day in a set, but now you cannot find but a chiar or two that even bears a resemblance. This chair has likely traveled from one corner of the campus to the other – -from PTSA breakfast to senior banquet to piano recital to rehearsal room to big stage to small closet. It has been featured in scene after scene: sometimes the back of a pickup, sometimes the royal chair of the royal house in some ever so royal play, sometimes a badly placed acting partner. Do actors still do imaginary scenes talking to chairs as if they were people. Creepy? Right? I though once years ago of tagging the chair like a dolphin in the wild and have some tracking device mark its journey.
I like this chair. I KNOW it has served me in 22 years of directing plays and teaching classes. Fancy projectors, electric whiteboards, and all kinds of poorly thought through technology walk in and out the doors of the theatre: one year it’s part of inventory, the next year it collects dust in the media room surrounded by mice that have lost their rolly ball and hence serve no purpose for a computer or anything else.
BUT the chair remains. The chair still serves the actor splendidly and as long as it doesn’t get thrown against the wall too many times in a false sense of adding DRAMA to a scene, it will be there long after I have retired. Kids cannot appreciate the chair – they so easily forget to return them and leave their paint blistering away in the rain. Kids don’t appreciate chairs. I appreciate the chair. And on the first days of pre-planning, I am that chair.